


FINALLY! Something Edible

by hips_of_steel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cooking, Cute, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:18:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6729448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hips_of_steel/pseuds/hips_of_steel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America brings one of his young citizens to make scones with England.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FINALLY! Something Edible

England was often confused by the actions of his former charge, but he hadn't expected America to show up one day with a young woman in tow and an order.

"If you want to cook decent scones, let her teach you how, I beg you!"

England crossed his arms. "Are you challenging my cooking abilities, young man?"

The girl raised her hands in surrender. "I'm mainly here because of a free flight and vacation to the UK."

America shoved his way into the house and left England staring at the girl.

She gave him a faint smile. "Sorry about him, but I guess you already know. I'm Marcella Wheeler. My dad and Al worked together and fought together in Desert Storm, so he just kinda drops by every now and then and when he learned I made some killer scones..."

Alfred reemerged, wincing at her word choice. "Killer scones in a good way. This guy can't make scones worth shit."

England spat a curse at America, and Marcella laughed. Finally he sighed. "Alright, if he spent the money bringing you over, let's see what you can make."

 

After she swept through his kitchen, collecting ingredients and finding bowls and baking sheets, England stayed out of her way. America had disappeared to god knows where, but the young woman's smile made him feel alright.

Then she asked him if he would tell her about the history of the country.

"Specifically England, since I know Scotland, Wales, and each part of Ireland have their own personifications."

"Did Alfred tell you what we are?"

"Not at first, but my whole family knows now. I work for him part time as a Spanish translator for when Mexico visits, or several other of the Latin Americans."

Finally she pulled out a jar and he stared at the sliced apples soaking in syrup within. "You make fruit scones?"

"Yeah. Not really traditional. But they're really good. Especially with my mom's homemade pie filling."

England came closer, and she smiled. "So, why don't you help me so that Alfred doesn't yell at either of us when we get back?"

 

First they mixed all the dry ingredients in a bowl. Marcella told him that mixing the all purpose flour with wheat also made excellent scones, but as long as you only did it half and half. All wheat flour was not nearly as delicious.

Then she lifted her pastry knife and began cutting into the butter. England watched her. The way she moved reminded him a little bit of France, or even mild mannered Canada. When they enjoyed cooking, you could tell from the movement of their hands, or the way their faces almost transformed. This young woman was caught up in a similar gaze, almost ignoring him as he watched.

He spoke as she set down the pastry knife and reached for the jar. "What's your family heritage?"

"Mostly English and German. One of my great grandmothers was Swiss, and my mother's maternal family were of Swedish descent, though they lived in Canada."

Ah. There was that slight hint of Canadian influence.

"Just easier to say I'm from the United States, really."

He laughed a little, and she smiled. "So, let me ask a question? Will I get to try one of your scones when I'm done with mine, as well as some of that famous tea?"

"Yes, I think that could be arranged.

They worked around each other, Marcella measuring out homemade apple pie filling in the place of shredded apples, and cutting them with the pastry knife for a few seconds before mixing them with the milk. England was busy assembling his own ingredients, but he stopped to watch her mix them.

After she quickly kneaded the mix, she set it on the pan and coated it with a tablespoon of milk, and the cinnamon sugar.

England glanced at her recipe and went to grab her a butter knife, but she slid it into the oven without cutting them into wedges.

"You were supposed to split them into wedges."

"More likely to dry out both in the oven and out of it. I cut them once they're out."

He blinked, and she spoke. "Don't you ever experiment with recipes?"

"Not very often." In fact, Arthur usually obeyed recipes like they were the law.

She laughed softly. "Maybe that's why Alfred doesn't like your cooking. After all, fast food seems to be almost entirely an experiment in my mind. Though one has to wonder if the experiment is in the food or the minds of the poor employees who have to deal with rude customers."

England stifled a laugh of his own, and finished his own scones, sliding them into the oven as soon as Marcella's were done. As he went to his tea cabinet, he spoke.

"What type of tea do you like?"

"I'm partial to chai mixes myself, but you make whatever you like."

 

When Alfred returned, he saw England and Marcella laughing over tea, and eating scones. He was surprised by Arthur's laugh, which he hadn't heard in a long time.

Entering the house, he spotted two plates, one full of the wonderful apple scones and the other containing England's horrid monstrosities.

Arthur looked up at the sight of him. "We wondered when you'd get back."

Marcella nodded, and offered him a scone. One of England's, he noted.

"No thanks, Cella, I'd rather..."

"This is the second batch. Arthur and I did this one together."

Both looked at him, and eventually he sighed and sat down, glaring at England. "I'm only doing this because Cella helped you make them."

England rolled his eyes, snatching up one of her scones. "Well, too bad. I think they're pretty good myself, and Miss Wheeler agrees."

Alfred finally took a bite and was surprised at the taste. Scones usually were a little dry, of course, but these were fairly fresh, and still had some on the moisture. They were almost plain.

Almost.  
"What did you put in these?" He asked, curiously looking at both of them.

"A pinch of cinnamon, and some extra sugar. Not much, but a little."

England watched America's face for a moment, and then America quickly ate the rest of the scone. Both of them laughed.

"Cella, you've already worked wonders! They're not nearly as good as yours of course, but..."

She shook her head. "Mine are more likely to give you diabetes. Just help us finish them all."

He saluted her.

 

England stood in his kitchen a few weeks later, France nearby, as he carefully looked at spices, sniffing them to determine which ones might go well.

He settled on a mix of cinnamon, with a touch of nutmeg and cloves. He added a tablespoon of sugar to the recipe, mixing it with the spices and then blending it with the dry ingredients.

When they were done, France cautiously took one and bit into it. England waited for the judgement.

"While they compare to nothing that would have come out of my kitchen, they are better than anything else that has ever left this kitchen."

That was as close to a compliment as he was going to get.

Maybe experimenting with things wasn't so bad.


End file.
